


Flyknit Low 2

by snoqualmie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, i saw pretty running shoes and wrote this, self indulgent summer confessional becoz CC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoqualmie/pseuds/snoqualmie
Summary: Yahaba doesn’t know what it means when they’re laying in the dirt outside of their school after everybody else has already left practice and Kyoutani says, “Sometimes you make me feel like I can’t fucking breathe.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by CC and [these](https://cdn5.kicksonfire.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/Nike-LunarEpic-Flyknit-Low-2-1.png?x77385) shoes

Yahaba would like to say that him and Kyoutani are pretty okay, minus the massive _thing_ he seems to have developed. It’s not painful, he supposes. Kyoutani is handsome. His smile lights up rooms because that’s a thing he does. Smiles. A lot. All the time. Watari pulls them out of him the easiest. He can just look at Kyoutani right and then they’re both grinning and laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. It’s really cute, in all honesty, and it still sort of does a funny thing to Yahaba’s heart when Kyoutani throws his head back and laughs so hard that he’s gasping for breath.

He falls asleep on Yahaba’s shoulder on the way home from matches and the first time Yahaba realizes that he’s majorly fucked is when Kyoutani drools on him and it should be gross, but the only thing he can think is, _“cute.”_

Yahaba isn’t pining, no matter what Watari says. And the subtle wingman-ing that Watari is doing is actually not subtle, like, at all.

Yahaba’s musing over how terrible his life has become when they’re all at lunch together and Watari asks, “So, Kyoutani, what kind of person are you into? I know we don’t really talk about that stuff but I’ve been wondering.”

And Yahaba doesn’t choke on his lunch, which is good, but Kyoutani makes this fucked up face and says, “Why did you say it all weird? Just say girl.”

“Well, I dunno,” Watari says, pursing his lips. “It’s sort of shitty to assume that somebody’s straight, right?”

Kyoutani’s eyes narrow into slits at that and he leans back, lips pressed into a line. “Fair enough.”

Yahaba wants to kick the shit out of him and say, _“Well? What kind of person? Fucking say it!”_

Watari just gives Kyoutani this look thats patient and reassuring and Kyoutani absolutely blossoms under it, as much as Kyoutani can blossom. His arms uncross and he huffs a sigh, offers a shrug.

“I like tall,” he starts and pauses. Then he huffs again and continues, “guys. Tall guys. I don’t know. Nice. Hair. Brown eyes.”

Each word is like pulling a tooth but Watari pats him on the shoulder when he finishes and says, “Brown eyes are so pretty, right? There’s this girl in the tennis club with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Yahaba’s very interested in his lunch. That’s a super awesome carrot. Yahaba has brown eyes and nice hair, by most people’s standards. He’s sort of tall-ish for the average person. Kyoutani likes _boys._ Yahaba isn’t really self-conscious but suddenly there’s this nasty thing unfurling in his gut. Does Kyoutani think he’s good looking? Is he Kyoutani’s type? Kyoutani likes _boys._

“Is there anybody you’re interested in?” Watari asks, going for casual and absolutely nailing it. He’s got a mouthful of food and his posture is open and easy because Kyoutani’s receptive to stuff like that.

Kyoutani’s face twists up again and Yahaba wants to stand on top of the table and screech at the top of his lungs because Kyoutani is _blushing._ His ears are bright red and it’s creeping into his cheeks, ruddy and handsome and _ah,_ Yahaba’s palms are sweating. He wipes them on his slacks and Kyoutani looks over at him like he’s just noticed he’s there.

“What’s your deal, you twitchy fuck?”

Yahaba gapes at him. “Nothing, asshole. Jesus Christ, what’s _your_ deal? You’re so rude.”

Kyoutani flips him off.

Watari’s a good wingman, no matter how much it pisses Yahaba off, because his eyes are round and innocent and Kyoutani never knows when he’s planning something. Yahaba usually doesn’t either, so, nearly a month later when he and Kyoutani are standing together quietly at the train station and Yahaba taps out a message to Watari to hurry the fuck up, shit gets a little awkward.

He’s not trying to be awkward but Kyoutani’s got these ridiculous shorts on. They’re frayed cut-offs and they’re too short. They’re so short. They’re longer than his volleyball shorts, really, but they’re not volleyball shorts. They’re cut-offs and they’re too short because Yahaba can see his knees and, like, a significant portion of his thighs. His shirt has a dog on it and knowing Kyoutani, the company he bought it from donates half the proceeds to animal shelters or something. That’s so cute. He’s so _cute._ Even his knees are cute.

Yahaba’s phone pings with a text from Watari.

_Can’t make it…. I mean,, I could but I’m not going to lol. Have fun :)_

“Shinji flaked,” Yahaba says, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket before he uses some choice language with that little bald bastard.

“Did he say why?” Kyoutani asks, narrowing his eyes. “He always wants to go into the city.”

“He didn’t say shit,” Yahaba replies, frowning as their train pulls into the station. “Whatever. We can look at kneepads without him. It’s fine.”

“True.” Kyoutani shoves his hands in his pockets.

Yahaba peeks over at him from the corner of his eye and Kyoutani’s peeking back. Both of them look away and huff a loud breath as their train pulls into the station.

The train ride is _awful._ Kyoutani is too close, too quiet and every time Yahaba peeks over he’s looking right back at him and it makes me feel embarrassed as hell that he keeps getting _caught._ After it happens one too many times Yahaba just sighs and nudges Kyoutani with his elbow, “Being on a long train ride sort of makes you feel like you’re going somewhere important, doesn’t it?”

Kyoutani just levels him with a look and says, “Don’t be cordial with me. It makes me want to pummel you.”

Yahaba sighs and slumps into his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face and hoping it hides his smile. “Sorry.”

“Are we really knee pad shopping?” Kyoutani asks, looking out the window and narrowing his eyes. “Don’t you have like three pairs already?”

“I have two pairs,” Yahaba corrects. “My favorite ones are the grey ones and they’re falling apart. So I want new grey ones and I want to pick up some athletic tape. I’m tired of you doing stupid shit to your fingers.”

“It’s your tosses,” Kyoutani says. “Sometimes they’re off, dude. Fucks up my fingers when I try to hit it.”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t try to hit it hard enough that doing it wrong will fuck up your fingers.”

“You want me to stop spiking well?” Kyoutani asks. He sounds annoyed. Yahaba huffs and shuts his mouth. He doesn’t really want Kyoutani to stop spiking well.

The trains stops far too many times for Yahaba’s liking and as the car fills up, Kyoutani presses closer. Somebody bumps into his shoulder and he lets out a low sound at the back of his throat, shoulders coming up as he crowds into Yahaba’s space.

“What?” Yahaba whispers.

“Too many people,” Kyoutani replies, lip curling.

Yahaba nudges Kyoutani with his shoulder. “We’re almost there.” 

Kyoutani’s eyes narrow again but their shoulders press together and it’s nice. Too warm, maybe, definitely. When Kyoutani leans away to step off the train, there’s a disgustingly sweaty separation where their bare skin was touching that makes Yahaba feel weird. By the time Yahaba shakes himself out of his thoughts and steps off the train Kyoutani is standing off to the side with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“That was cramped,” Yahaba says. “Let’s go look at knee pads. Maybe they’ll have ones you like, too?”

Kyoutani just grunts and Yahaba’s still not used to being alone with the honey-eyed bastard.

It’s not awful, though.

Kyoutani weaves his way through throngs of people will the well-practiced ease of somebody who does _not_ want social interaction and Yahaba walks next to him in silence. They stop two different times. The first is so Kyoutani can pet a dog, the second is so Kyoutani can laugh and take a picture of something in a shop window that Yahaba doesn’t get what’s so funny about. When he asks, Kyoutani gets shifty and grumbles something about it being for Watari.

The sports shop is fairly busy, so they slip in unnoticed and Kyoutani stands too close to him while they look for kneepads.

“Do you need to get anything?” Yahaba asks, squinting at the shoes on the other side of the store. “New running shoes? You run, right?”

“Yeah,” Kyoutani says, “but I hate spending money.”

“The soles of your shoes are falling out, Kyoutani,” Yahaba retorts, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but still.”

He’s too close. Yahaba can’t fucking focus on stupid kneepads with Kyoutani breathing down his neck like that. He’s just standing there all tanned and muscular with his stupid hair. Yahaba hates him, he decides as he picks up an ugly pair of knee pads. He really, really hates him. When Yahaba looks over Kyoutani’s lips are moving as he reads something on a sale sign above their heads. His eyes just happen to flick over to Yahaba and the two of them huff and look away from each other. Yahaba hates getting _caught._

But shopping is good, really, because Kyoutani walks away and then Yahaba can finally breathe. He takes his damn sweet time finding new grey knee pads because his heartbeat is still kind of fucky. So he wanders through aisles, snags new athletic tape and doesn’t think about Kyoutani’s fingers at all. When Yahaba goes to find the bastard he’s standing near the display of running shoes, bouncing on his toes in a pair of sleek, grey ones.

“Those are nice,” Yahaba offers. It’s an olive branch of sorts, maybe. They’re okay. They’re friends but being together and not having a third person or a whole team of people as a buffer makes it weird. It makes Yahaba hyper-aware of his feelings, of Kyoutani’s stupidly cute knees.

“I like ‘em,” Kyoutani says, rocking onto his heels. “Fuck. I shouldn’t buy them, though.”

“You should.” Yahaba hopes he’s being casual about the way he’s watching Kyoutani’s calves flex. “They’re pretty.”

“They’ll probably last a long time, too,” Kyoutani says, face scrunching. “Should I?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah.” Kyoutani sighs. “I do.”

When they leave the store they’ve got Kyoutani’s shoes and Yahaba’s knee pads tucked into the same bag and that shouldn’t feel intimate but it does.

It’s not until the weather starts to warm up that Kyoutani slots into Yahaba’s life in a weirdly perfect way. The two of them don’t live terribly far away from each other, so as the weather clears up, and as they learn to work as a team and a duo instead of two wild animals in a cage together, they start walking home together. Kyoutani is usually quiet, kicking rocks down the sidewalk as they walk down the slope towards Kyoutani’s neighborhood. They talk, too, though. Sometimes it’s about practice but most of the time Yahaba asks questions to fill the space. He learns that Kyoutani’s favorite festival is the summer festival that the town holds, mostly because of the fireworks and spicy food booths. He learns that Kyoutani has two younger sisters and his parents are still together while Yahaba’s aren’t. Kyoutani frowns a little at that and Yahaba shrugs, “It’s fine. I never knew my dad, so it’s not a massive deal. He left my mom when he found out she was pregnant with me.”

“He’s fucking stupid,” Kyoutani mumbles and it might just be Yahaba projecting but their hands brush and it feels intended.

Yahaba has dinner with Kyoutani and his family a few times, too, which is overwhelming and strangely calming all at once. His sisters are loud, his mother is louder. His dad is soft-spoken and kisses all three of his kids on the head when he gets home from work before he kisses his wife. Yahaba feels like he’s intruding on something personal when he sits at their table for the first time but Kyoutani nudges his foot under the table and Kyoutani’s mother winks at him from her spot at the head of the table and it sort of just clicks into place.

When they’re not at home, Watari’s dragging them out as a trio to do _things._ They go mini golfing one Saturday, they go job hunting as a team another Saturday. Kyoutani grins as Watari talks to him like they’ve been friends for years. It’s frustrating and endearing and Yahaba wants to grab Kyoutani by the front of his shirt and plant one on him every time he brings up an old joke between him and Watari and the two of them laugh at each other over it.

And then all of a sudden it’s the summer of their third year and Yahaba’s presented with a massive load of free-time that he can’t even fill with volleyball because most of it’s already filled with volleyball.

Yahaba sighs and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, spinning his phone in his hand. He just saw Kyoutani less than twelve hours ago but he wants to see him again. It’s sort of awful how often he wants to see him. They have practice together twice a day and at the beginning of last year that definitely would have been enough. It was definitely enough if Yahaba goes by the bruises the two of them had ended up with far too often. They don’t fight like that anymore. They’d dealt with that with a lot of yelling and a few extra hours of practice a night, just the two of them. Now they can actually talk. Instead of yelling _You Statements_ like “You’re a cream-puff bastard. Fuck you.” or “You’re fucking up the flow of the entire game, you asshole,” they can sit down across from each other and use _I Statements_ like, “I get stressed out when I can’t feel us communicating.” and “I feel like we should work on our quick some more because I don’t feel confident.”

Sometimes it still feels like pulling teeth but there are nights when Kyoutani’s laying face-up on his bedroom floor and taking deep breaths and spilling his guts to the dark room. Nights where there’s nothing but the sound of the blankets shifting as Yahaba rearranges himself on the bed that smells too much like Kyoutani for him to be able to sit still. There’s still stuff Yahaba doesn’t really know a lot about when it comes to Kyoutani. He doesn’t know why he has so many sticky note pads or why he likes South America so much. He doesn’t know what it means when they’re laying in the dirt outside of their school after everybody else has already left practice and Kyoutani says, “Sometimes you make me feel like I can’t fucking breathe.”

Yahaba doesn’t know what it means when Kyoutani’s fingers catch on his when they walk to practice together, or when he looks over his shoulder when they part ways to walk to their own houses, or what it means when Kyoutani levels his thirteen year old sister with a look until she gives up the spot next to Yahaba on the couch while they watch television. It’s confusing and a little frustrating and all Yahaba knows is that there’s this weird feeling in his gut when he looks at Kyoutani. Hell, there’s a weird feeling in his gut when Kyoutani so much as sends him a text that says _“Ok.”_

Yahaba looks at the clock. He’s wasted an entire day of their compulsory three day volleyball break and his mother is going to be home soon. She’s going to get annoyed with him, too, she always does. She’ll probably put him in a headlock and say, “Shigeru, go find something to do. You’re such a little brat. Go see Shinji. Please, go do something!”

Yahaba’s never been good at taking breaks from things, especially when it throws off his routine, but he leaves a note and decides to run until he feels like he’s going to barf or something.

By the time he’s back home, his mother is cooking so there’s something that he can do that won’t drive her crazy or drive him crazy. And dinner is fine but she can tell he’s bouncing off the walls and she sets her fork down a little too hard.

“It’s summer, right? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with a girl?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Sneaking out of the house and running away with her and drinking stolen beer.”  
“Do I live in a shoujo manga?” Yahaba retorts, waving his hand in the air. “Also, are you encouraging me to steal liquor?”

“I’m encouraging you to get the hell out of the house,” she says. “And I’m lifting your curfew.”

“Thanks, Ma,” he says wistfully. “But there’s no girl, and Shinji’s on family vacation at the ocean.”

“So, it’s a boy?” she asks through a mouthful of food.

Yahaba opens and closes his mouth a few times before answering, “Yeah.”

She takes a deep breath.

“It’s both,” Yahaba blurts. “I like both. I’m bisexual. I like both.”

“At the same time?” she asks, reeling backwards. “Does Kentarou know?”

Yahaba never been punched in the sternum but he’s pretty sure the way all the air rushes out of his lungs is exactly the way it would happen if he did get punched in the sternum.

“Kenta—Kyoutani?” he wheezes. “And, no! Not at the same time. I don’t—I’m not even with him like that. It’s not like that, Mom, seriously.”

“Oh, please,” she interrupts loudly, slamming a hand down on the table. “That boy is gayer than the day is long. I’m not a moron and you two are _not_ subtle. Hell, Shigeru. Did you really expect me to not know?”

“I appreciate it, but I’m probably just going to go watch T.V. or something.”

She sighs when he gets up from the table. Summer vacation is boring. It’s too hot to do things during the day, especially when Watari is out of town. He could call up his other friends but he doesn’t really care to see them. He wants to see Watari, he wants to see Kyoutani, which is awful and so gay that it makes him want to punch himself in the head.

He doesn’t find the balls to text Kyoutani until it’s nearly half past nine and even then it’s a simple, “Ice cream?”

And all he gets back is, “Chocolate”

So Yahaba texts, “Be at your house in 10.” and then he shoves a pint of chocolate ice cream into his half-empty backpack and bikes to Kyoutani’s house faster than he’s ever biked anywhere. He pulls up and Kyoutani’s sitting on the front porch, nose buried in his phone. He looks up when Yahaba clears his throat and then they chain Yahaba’s bike to the fence. 

“I have a cool place,” Kyoutani says vaguely and Yahaba follows, as per usual. He does that a lot, he’s come to realize. Following Kyoutani. When he thinks about it he realizes that he’s always thought it would be the other way. The ace and the captain are a team but the captain is the captain, right? They’ve never really had an easy dynamic like that.

Kyoutani’s the one texting play ideas to Yahaba at one in the morning when they should be sleeping, he’s the one grabbing Yahaba’s wrist and yanking him back onto the court for more practice. Kyoutani’s the one pulling a volleyball out from under his bed so the two of them can go outside and bounce the ball off the roof of the house. 

They end up climbing a fence and wandering into a big, open field. The thing about being this far from the actual city is that you can see stars. Yahaba always forgets how beautiful it is outside at night until he’s, well, outside at night. Kyoutani is quiet next to him, legs swishing through the tall grass, until he finds a spot he deems appropriate and he’s plopping his ass down and giving Yahaba an expectant look. Yahaba sits down next to him and swings his backpack around front, unzipping it and offering it to Kyoutani silently.

Kyoutani makes a happy noise and digs the ice cream out, tugging two plastic spoons out of his pocket and jamming them both into it. The spoon that’s supposed to be Yahaba’s bends dangerously and Yahaba totally feels that. He gets it. He is that spoon.

“So,” Kyoutani mumbles through a mouthful of ice cream. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean?” Yahaba asks, spooning his own bite out of the container. It rests between them on Kyoutani’s palm in some sort of vaguely romantic purgatory. 

“What do you want? I know you want something. I can hear your brain thinking in your fat head. You wanna talk about the team? You fight with Shinji?”

Yahaba’s still reeling over the fact that Kyoutani just told him he has a fat head and how he oh-so-casually dropped Watari’s given name when Kyoutani makes a frustrated noise and pulls the ice cream out of the neutral zone and into his own space. Yahaba doesn’t know what to say to that, so they lapse into silence again. Kyoutani’s happy, though, obviously, by the content little noises he’s making and the fact that he’s tapping his feet together. The stars look nice and Kyoutani smells good and there are cicadas screaming all around them, almost drowning the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the barely-there breeze. The moment would be perfect if Yahaba could unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth and fucking _talk_ to the boy sitting next to him. Yahaba pinches himself on the thigh as hard as he can and jolts when fingers buckle under the pressure. Kyoutani jumps, too, tilting his head to look at Yahaba, bewildered. He’s about to call Yahaba a jumpy bastard or something but Yahaba beats him to the punch and wheezes, “I like you.”

“What?” Kyoutani asks, voice flat.

Yahaba’s already losing his steam so he sucks in a heavy breath and says it again, “I like you!”

Kyoutani’s eyes narrow for a second and then he’s turning away to shovel more ice cream in his mouth. “Okay.”

It goes quiet again and Yahaba’s heart is pounding so hard that it might actually break out of his chest, which is awful. And it’s awful that Kyoutani isn’t _answering_ him, he’s just sitting there eating ice cream and not telling him if he likes him back, if that’s gross and weird and he’s going to tell the whole team, if the ice cream is too melted because Kyoutani likes his ice cream really frozen and Yahaba’s lungs are squeezing themselves to death and he can’t breathe and—

“Dude,” Kyoutani snaps. “Breathe. Holy fuck.”

Yahaba sucks in a loud breath. Kyoutani sets the ice cream down and readjusts so that he’s facing Yahaba, legs still crossed. His face is creepily neutral and Yahaba glares at him but then Kyoutani’s leaning in and raising an eyebrow when Yahaba leans backwards instinctively.

Yahaba gets it, though, after a split second and he accidentally lets out a surprised, “Oh!” but then Kyoutani’s leaning in again and Yahaba’s been kissed on the mouth before, by relatives fairly often and by two different boys but this is better. It’s soft and short and sweet and when Kyoutani leans away, Yahaba’s the one leaning forward for a second one. Yahaba feels Kyoutani sigh through his nose and then they’re _really_ kissing. One of Kyoutani’s hands comes up and catches the side of his face, fingers burning hot against the skin of Yahaba’s cheek and kind of sticky. Yahaba wants more, he thinks, so he parts his lips and hopes that Kyoutani will taste like chocolate ice cream.

He does. And the breeze is cool and everything smells like Kyoutani and grass and summer time at night. Kyoutani sets the ice cream to the side of him and then his other hand is coming up to hold Yahaba’s face and Yahaba doesn’t mean to but he shudders and leans further into Kyoutani because that’s a really, really good thing. Kyoutani’s palms are broad and warm and his fingers are just barely slid into the hair at Yahaba’s temples and hips lips are slow and careful and warm.

When they pull back Kyoutani looks vaguely dazed. His eyes are lidded and heavy, mouth hanging open. His breathing is a little loud, too, and it matches Yahaba’s. Yahaba feels jittery and shaky like he could run fifteen laps around the field and then have some extra energy to spare so he sucks in a heavy breath and leans back towards Kyoutani, bringing a hand up and fisting it in his shirt.

“Kiss,” Yahaba breathes. It was supposed to be a full sentence but Kyoutani’s lips look nice and he wants more.

Kyoutani kisses him again. It’s firm and his lips move slow against Yahaba’s until he’s pulling back with a heaving breath and a barely-there shudder.

“Did you ever end up watching that weird murder mystery drama thingie with your mom?” Kyoutani asks, casual as hell while he spoons more ice cream into his mouth.

At least it’s not awkward. Yahaba guesses he can just go with the flow, seeing as he doesn’t have much of a choice. “Yeah. It was awful.”

A laugh bubbles out of Kyoutani and and he holds the tub in the neutral space between them again, tilting it at Yahaba. “Tell me the movie.”

Yahaba peeks over and Kyoutani’s looking at him out of the corner of his eye, lips turned up in smile so small that Yahaba can tell he’s trying to keep it in check. It’s charming and Yahaba leans in and pecks the side of his face just because he can. He’ll tell Kyoutani about this stupid movie and it’ll be hilarious.

**Author's Note:**

> i love u CC


End file.
